


on your own

by orphan_account



Category: VIXX
Genre: Angst, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 04:36:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4334117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>hongbin's in love with taekwoon; taekwoon's in love with no one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	on your own

**september, 2014**  
They're in the kitchen of Taekwoon's flat; an off-campus apartment on the fourteenth floor and it's eight in the morning and they're going to be late for class if they don't leave in the next fifteen minutes, but Taekwoon's still sipping his coffee, never mind that it's cold. Hongbin knows it's cold because he's been nursing it for over ten minutes and the coffee carafe's already turned off and the milk's been put away and the toast he'd been eating has gone stale, but he doesn't have it in him to tell Taekwoon to hurry up. He hasn't spoken all morning, only side glances and half smiles when Hongbin asks how he's been doing. It's been a week since they've last seen each other, but Hongbin's sure Taekwoon hasn't noticed.  
  
Another minute or two—maybe five, and Taekwoon finally sets the cup down but he holds his hand in front of himself as if he's still holding the mug. He falters, mouth open; tries to say something, but closes his mouth again. Then he's reaching into his pocket and pulling out his pack of smokes; there's only three left. He gives one to Hongbin.  
  
'I don't think he loves me anymore.' The words rush from his mouth like running water, like he can't bear to keep them inside anymore, like they taste foul. 'He hasn't called me in three days. I called him last night, but he didn't answer. I—' stopping short, cutting himself off, staring at the floor with rose colored cheeks and a blank expression. Hongbin has only enough time to gulp down a mouthful of air, and hold it.  
  
'I—' Taekwoon tries again. He puts the cigarette in his mouth and holds the lighter like he's going to ignite it, but doesn't.  
  
Hongbin, tapping his foot on hardwood floor, a jangle of nerves and fresh sweat on his palms; he watches Taekwoon from the corner of his eye, not wanting Taekwoon to see him staring. And twirling the cigarette between his fingers, he tries not to be obvious about checking the time on his watch. 'Hyung,' he says as casually as he can which is not casually at all. 'If you think he doesn't love you then why don't you ask him?'  
  
'How do you ask someone that without making it seem they have to say yes?'  
  
Hongbin gives a one-shouldered shrug. He doesn't know the answer to that question. A moment later and he motions for the lighter; Taekwoon hands it over as he walks from the kitchen to the living room, first grabbing his backpack from the sofa then slipping into his shoes at the front door. He says, 'We're gonna be late,' and leaves before Hongbin is out of his seat.  
  
And in the hallway, unseasonably cold for late September: Hongbin, walking hurriedly to keep up with Taekwoon who seems unable to slow down even the smallest bit. He's biting his lower lip, teeth marks left in his skin, and his hand is cold when it brushes against Hongbin's own, reaching for the lighter and lighting his cigarette in the lift. They ignore the No Smoking sign and breathe plumes of smoke between them, clouding the air and making it stale.  
  
'Can I ask something?' Hongbin says when the lift opens on the lobby floor. Students there—a whole cluster of them—glaring as the smoke threads through open space. Hongbin would apologize if he cared even the slightest bit. 'It's sorta personal, I think. I don't know. Can I ask it?'  
  
'I don't care.'  
  
'Do you love him? Jaehwan, I mean.'  
  
Taekwoon stops so suddenly Hongbin's afraid he's going to yell, say something mean, but even then he wouldn't really mind. A reaction would be nice every once in a while instead of the forlorn look Taekwoon always wears. But it's only a second later that Hongbin realizes Taekwoon isn't stopping because of the question but rather to stub out his cigarette on the bottom of his boot. He drops the remaining half back into his pack, and huffs out a sigh.  
  
'No,' he says in a way so casual one might have thought Hongbin asked if he was enjoying the weather. 'I guess I don't.'  
  
'Then, uh—' Quick steps, 1 2 3, walking on tiptoes because Taekwoon's already walking away. 'Does it matter if he loves you?'  
  
A pause before he answers, but only a small one. 'It does. I don't know why, but...' and he gives a smile so small Hongbin doesn't notice it at first, just like he doesn't notice it's an apologetic one.  
  
They're crossing the street, empty street, not bothering to look either way before they go when Hongbin breathes deeply through his nose. The burn of cold air in his sinuses; the beat of his heart too fast to be comfortable.  _I love you_ , he thinks bitterly,  _but that doesn't seem to matter_.  
  
  
**june, 2014**  
_White blond hair with black at the roots; he was wearing a dark button-up that made his shoulders look small and his skin paler than it really was. He had an arm around Jaehwan's neck, face nestled against his cheek, grinning about something that really couldn't have been that interesting; and a moment later: helping Jaehwan into his coat, fixing the collar, the drawstrings.  
  
Hongbin, sat on the sofa at the other end of the room, a sofa with fucked up springs that sank to the floor and a cup of foamy beer that tasted like shit, watched as Taekwoon brushed blond hair out of his own eyes, and felt his heart leap feebly as Taekwoon said something only Jaehwan could hear. They were at a party, Wonsik's party, a start of term party that wasn't that great: a handful of people who didn't know each other well enough so that the intimacy was made awkward, and Wonsik: made more sociable than Hongbin was sure he liked. He had watched for a moment as Wonsik made his way to every person in the room, starting conversations he didn't have enough time to end, and it must have been Hongbin's turn because as soon as his beer was gone another was being offered to him. Wonsik, smiling, looking pained, collapsed into the spot beside Hongbin and drank the beer Hongbin didn't accept.  
  
'You alright?' he asked. 'You look pissed off.'  
  
'Tired,' Hongbin said, and it really wasn't a lie. His eyes were heavy, his body hot; he kept thinking of the dorm he had yet to move into and Taekwoon's offer of them rooming together. What would the school know, anyway? And when Wonsik said nothing for what felt like forever, Hongbin turned to him, asked, 'Do you have a smoke,' only to be reminded a second later that Wonsik didn't smoke. So: to his feet, more annoyed than he thought he'd be; he wanted to ask Taekwoon to go with him outside but hated the idea of Jaehwan joining them.  
  
He walked on legs that felt like lead and carried himself across a room that felt too small, and when his shoulder clipped Taekwoon's own hard enough they both jolted from the contact, he didn't apologize, and he didn't look Taekwoon in the eye; only kept walking until fresh air was in his lungs and new sweat was on his nape. Then: a hand on his shoulder, hard grip, bony fingers; and Taekwoon's voice, taunting but kind.  
  
'Did you forget how to respect your elders?' He tightened his grip until Hongbin fussed, shoving an elbow back to hit him in the chest, but he missed. Taekwoon shoved him too hard to be playful. 'What's wrong?' Stern voice, it was like speaking to his father so Hongbin ignored him and sank onto the ground, dirty concrete and dying grass; he picked at the yellowed lawn until his fingers were stained with dirt.  
  
'Bin-ah.' His arm about Hongbin's shoulder, his face so close his breath tickled Hongbin's neck. 'Is it because Jaehwan's here?'  
  
'I don't—' wriggling away, he had tried to push Taekwoon off only to have his fingers curl into the front of Taekwoon's shirt instead. 'Why is he here? Why does he have to be here?' He hated the whine in his voice and how childish he felt, but as always with Taekwoon: it was hard to filter himself, to hide something from him. 'It isn't like he'll be going to the same school as us, so-so—why does he have to be here?'  
  
'Hongbin.' He edged closer only to be pushed away.  
  
'You're making it worse.'  
  
'Why don't you like him?' Taekwoon asked quietly. Then: 'Why don't you try to like him? You'd get along. He's a lot like you.'  
  
'Is that supposed to make me feel better?' Hongbin, feeling emotionless, was pained by the break in his own voice. 'You'd rather have someone like me instead of me?'  
  
Taekwoon didn't have anything to say to that. He pulled Hongbin closer and pressed his nose to his temple, breathed deeply as if breathing Hongbin in, and if it was a perfect world—which Hongbin knew very well that it wasn't—he'd like to imagine Taekwoon was trying to apologize. Maybe he was. He never asked._  
  
  
**october, 2014**  
It's said that if one truly loves someone else, they'll be happy for them on any occasion, that it'd be enough just to see that they have reason to smile, and because of this, Hongbin is certain, that he's inexplicably selfish, that maybe it isn't that he loves Taekwoon but that he's afraid of losing him. He's wondered this for a long time, almost believed it at one point, but the simple brush of Taekwoon's fingers, his hand in Hongbin's hair, is enough to set his stomach alight, cheeks burning a bright pink, and that's all that he has to know to be reminded that it isn't sheer fear of being alone that keeps him so attached to Taekwoon's side, but that he does, in his own way, love him. As selfish and unrespectable as it may be, it is still love.  
  
He isn't proud of the smile he has to fight off when Taekwoon tells him Jaehwan no longer calls, that his texts are far and few in between. He pretends the fluttery fit of butterflies in his stomach is only anxiety and not excitement, that when Taekwoon's hand lingers on the back of Hongbin's own, it's only an accident and not something personal.  
  
He pretends he doesn't love Taekwoon, at least for a day or two, just to see if he can get away with it, if the feelings he feels are easily repressed. But then Taekwoon texts in the middle of the night and asks if Hongbin's still awake, and Hongbin, out of bed and slipping into his shoes before he's even responded, knows that it's pointless.  
  
  
  
**december, 2014**  
There's frost on the windows and the balcony door is open; wintry air seeping in and Hongbin, drunk and tired and smoking a cigarette that isn't lit, is leaning his head on the back of the couch as it starts to snow outside, but only a little. Taekwoon's beside him, trying to screw the top back on the vodka bottle and he complains that the music is too loud but doesn't bother to get up and turn it down, only sits with his legs crossed and his head tipped so far back Hongbin thinks he's going to have a head rush.  
  
Taekwoon begins muttering something, garbled words spaced so far apart Hongbin at first thinks he's speaking to himself, but after listening for a minute he realizes Taekwoon's talking to him; and he's talking about the time when Hongbin was 12 and had fallen out of the tree in Taekwoon's backyard, how his father had been so pissed he wouldn't let Taekwoon come over anymore. Then he's laughing and he's touching his forehead or maybe he's wiping his eyes as he reminds Hongbin when they used to hike the woods behind their old school and that one time when they'd cut class and stolen beers from the basement fridge; pricking their thumbs and pressing them together in an obsolete pact they'd seen done in a movie, then how they laughed about it with blood on their fingers. Hongbin doesn't mention that he still has the scar from when Taekwoon poked him because he'd cut too deep, and how his thumb had bled for days, a soft trickle that was more annoying than painful; he looks at his thumb now, sees the scar tissue there and feels his heart begin to speed up.  
  
Taekwoon sits up then, and there's something that looks like tears in his eyes but it could be from the laughter; Hongbin doesn't want to ask. He scoots across the couch until he's right beside Hongbin and he leans his cheek on his shoulder and says, 'You know I love you, Bin-ah. You know that, right?'  
  
Hongbin doesn't know what to say, he feels cold all over; he doesn't say anything at all.  
  
'It's just that, that I don't —It isn't the same kind of love.' His voice is slurred and all his words are pressed hard together, but Hongbin understands and he hates the way his stomach begins to hurt. He tries to shrug Taekwoon off but it doesn't work. 'You understand why I don't, right? Why, why I  _can't_?' He touches Hongbin's cheek. 'I don't want you to wait around for something that might never happen.'  
  
Hongbin laughs at first, a hollow sound that makes his eyes water, and he looks up at Taekwoon, feeling the break in his voice before he's even spoken. 'Never?' and he scoffs, moves to his feet and out the balcony door. Standing there with his hands on the rail and his heart in his mouth, he forces the lump in his throat down into his stomach and leans his forehead to the back of his hands.  
  
He feels Taekwoon beside him, feels his hand touch the nape of his neck. Cold fingers, long and thin and too familiar to be comforting. And when Hongbin lifts his head, Taekwoon presses his forehead to Hongbin's temple, tells him, 'I'm sorry.'  
  
He closes his eyes and when he opens them: the glare of red streetlamps, and the sound of revving car engines. He leans against Taekwoon, feels his breath so warm against the side of his face, and says, 'Me too.'


End file.
